Like a Pinprick to the Heart

By Shujoy Dutta

“So,” she pronounced, pointing the fork at my chest, “tell me something.”
“Something,” I said, not trying to be funny at all, just the rum and lust speaking.
“You said you were a psychic, what can you tell?”

Her eyes narrowed, her arm nestled against her breast, enhancing her cleavage.
It may have been because she was so sexy and my boss was not, the injustice of it, the alcohol, the cramped kitchen, the takeaway, the blue dress, the cleavage, but I really wanted to prove a point. Now when I think about it, a simple ‘You are very passionate and are stuck at what you do’ or ‘You were once very close to becoming an actress’ would have suited all my purposes, but no, I had to say something that would show her I wasn’t to be trifled with, the psychic thing wasn’t just a party boast, an alpha dog pee, I wasn’t going to let her snicker condescendingly while slowly sliding the fork into her mouth with little bits of gravy-smeared rice.

In what seemed then to be the only psychic thing I could say, I said, “One of your parents is suffering from cancer, it’s serious,” while following the fork go into her mouth and then staying there, her high slowly vanishing.
“My father,” she said finally, putting the fork down.
“I thought so, but didn’t want to say it,” I said nodding.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“I told you I’m psychic, I just feel these things.”